The thought-words stumble, incoherent, illogically
They live. Clumsy hands moving
rapidly over black well-worn keys
Ending the silence within the thoughts.
The simplest thought, expressed on screen,
Will not be on replay tonight,
Like the last one. Nor the night before.
Nor the thought that came before that.
All beautiful words, merely background noise now
Thoughts of futures, lost in the past.
Alone. Again. Waiting for the end of the just-one-more.
Swamped by the deja vu.
Circling in the dark, around the doubting,
Tormenting and consoling in measures unseen,
It lingers. And with it, the insomniac thoughts
dissolve off the screen and are breathed back in...
© Lattejunkie 2012